


Bound To Break

by DarkStuffHappens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Abused Dean Winchester, Abusive Alastair (Supernatural), Abusive John Winchester, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Bad Parent John Winchester, Bruises, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20231134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkStuffHappens/pseuds/DarkStuffHappens
Summary: Cas Novak blows into Lebanon, Kansas, and buys the local watering hole, known locally as the Roadhouse, after his father passes and he inherits. Who should come in but a battered and bruised Dean Winchester and for Cas it's practically love at first sight. But he has to contend with Dean's abusive boyfriend, Alastair, a man who has Dean so firmly held under his thumb he's practically broken.Can Cas save Dean from Alastair? And is there any hope of Cas helping Dean move past his fractured, horrific past?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Jagged Edge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/718212) by [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic). 

> Cas meets Dean when he comes into the Roadhouse for a drink. Dean's covered in bruises and Cas gets an idea of why when he meets Alastair.
> 
> Inspired by a fic I read on here a while back, The Jagged Edge by geckoholic. Gave me SO many ideas.

**Chapter One**

Castiel Novak had only been living in the small town of Lebanon, Kansas, for three weeks when he met the man who would change his life. It sounded dramatic when he thought about it like that but it was true. His father, God rest his soul, had died suddenly leaving Cas with a substantial inheritance. He had no idea what to do with it so he’d started driving. When his car broke down in Lebanon he’d wandered into a rundown bar, the name on the hanging sign had weathered away long ago and locals just called it the Roadhouse. It was up for sale and he’d put the deposit down that day. 

Ellen Harvelle and her daughter, Jo, had put the Roadhouse up for sale when the maintenance on the place got too expensive but stayed on to work behind the bar with Cas and kept living in one of the two bungalows behind the bar. Cas took up residence in the other.

Cas liked Lebanon. It was the quintessential small US town, the perfect escape for him. The only thing missing was someone to share it with but he figured all in due time. 

Three weeks into his new life in Lebanon he was stacking fresh bottles of beer into the fridges behind the bar when the bell on the door rang. It was early, only just five o’clock, usually people didn’t start arriving until at least six. Cas placed the bottle of beer down and turned around, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the man who’d just walked in. 

Tall, broad shoulders, dark blonde hair and tan skin, dressed in the typical Kansas uniform of jeans, boots and a flannel shirt. His head was bowed, gaze on the floor as he walked stiffly up to the bar. 

“What can I get you?” Cas asked, picking up a coaster and placing it on the bar. 

He looked up at his customer but his smile died when he saw the man’s face. For every stunning feature there was something that marred it. A sharp jawline with a dark bruise, pink, full lips split in two places, high cheekbones with another bruise, then hazel green eyes, one of them black. The man met his eyes for a split second then dropped his head. 

“Just a beer, anything,” the man said, his voice hoarse and soft. 

“Sure thing,” Cas said with a small smile. 

He pulled a bottle out from the fridge behind the bar and flicked off the cap, placing it on the bar in front of his mystery guest in one graceful move. 

“Thank you,” came the soft response. 

Cas went back to unpacking the beer bottles again trying to surreptitiously study the man further. The cuts and bruises looked recent and painful, Cas thought. And, when the man picked up the beer, Cas couldn’t see any cut knuckles - so no defensive wounds. While the guy looked leanly muscled, not bulky, he didn’t look like a pushover. Surely he hadn’t just _ let _ someone rough him up, Cas thought. 

“So, what’s your name?” Cas asked, straightening up after putting away the last bottle of beer. 

The man flinched slightly at the sound of his voice and, to be fair, apart from the Allman Brothers playing softly in the background, the Roadhouse was empty and quiet. He looked up at Cas and looked down again quickly. 

“Uh… it’s Dean,” he answered quietly, “Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you Dean, I’m Cas. Cas Novak.”

Dean nodded in response, taking a sip of his beer. 

“Do you come here often?” Cas said, just about kicking himself for saying something so stupid. 

Dean looked like he shared the sentiment, looking up at Cas with a raised eyebrow momentarily before schooling his face and dropping his eyes again. He did that a lot, Cas realised, every time he let himself relax or look Cas in the eyes a flicker of something passed over his face before he looked down again. If Cas didn’t know better he’d say it was fear. 

“I mean,” he continued, trying to make up for his ridiculous earlier question, “I just bought this place, about two weeks ago. I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Well, it’s kinda the only bar in town,” Dean said with a shrug, his mouth tightening as he moved making Cas think there might be more bruises under his shirt. “So I guess yeah, I come in a bit.”

“Would you change anything about it?” Cas asked. If he was being completely honest, he just wanted to get to know the man more, but he was running out of things to say that didn’t start with ‘Why are you covered in bruises?’. 

“Nah, it’s fine just how it is,” Dean said with a half smile - Cas could see the cuts on his lips pulling every time he moved them. He winced inwardly at the sight, they would be painful. 

“Well in that case, I won’t be changing a thing then,” Cas replied. He smiled at Dean and his heart almost burst when Dean smiled back, the smile lighting up his face. 

The moment was halted right in its tracks when the bell over the front door jingled. Cas looked over to see who the newcomer was, not missing Dean’s flinch at the sound. A couple of guys walked in taking a seat at one of the booths and Cas watched as Dean let out the breath he’d been holding. The two guys took up a bit of Cas’s attention asking about the burger special of the day and, by the time they finally got their order in and Cas passed the order slip through to Ellen in the kitchen, the bell rang again. Now it was starting to get busy. It was a Friday after all. Dean stayed at the bar, ordering a second beer and then a third. He kept to himself, his eyes trained on the scratched old wood of the bar, he didn’t talk to anyone who wandered up to order. After the dinner rush, it quietened down a little with about a dozen people in, a group of guys playing pool in the corner, two booths full, and Dean at the bar. 

Finally, Cas realised he had the time to chat to Dean again. He was just about to strike up a conversation again when the bell above the door jangled. After so many people coming and going, Cas had noticed Dean start to relax and this was the first time Cas hadn’t noticed him flinch at the sound. A tall, pale man walked into the Roadhouse. He stopped just inside the door, scanning the room. His eyes rested on Dean and he smiled, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Instead it sent a shiver down Cas’s spine. He watched as the man strolled up to the bar towards Dean who drained his third bottle of beer, completely oblivious to the tall, lean man dressed in black approaching the bar. 

Without warning, the man dropped a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean gasped at the sudden touch wincing as the man squeezed his shoulder. Cas immediately stopped stacking the dishwasher and walked over to the two men. 

“Dean, is everything alright?” Cas asked, his voice low and rough, staring down the other man. 

He was older, at least 10 years older than Dean, his hair streaked with gray and his eyes just as cold as the iciest morning in February. Dean whipped his eyes up to Cas, looking terrified for a split second before his sad, beautiful eyes characteristically lowered again. 

“Well, Dean, is everything alright then?” the older man said. 

Dean hesitated before nodding slightly. 

“I don’t think he can hear you,” the man said patronisingly. 

“E-everything’s fine, Cas,” Dean stammered, his gaze laser-focused on the bar, biting his lip as the older man tightened his grip on his shoulder. 

“Cas, is it?” the older man looked up at the bartender and grinned. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Alastair Burns. Dean’s partner.”

Alastair let go of Dean’s shoulder to shake Cas’s hand but Cas didn’t miss the way Dean swallowed nervously and gingerly brought his hand up to massage his left shoulder where Alastair had been holding him. 

“Pleasure,” Cas said shortly, shaking the older man’s hand. 

“Now come along, Dean, I think you’ve had quite enough beer for tonight,” Alastair said, his hand returning to Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean nodded silently and stood up from the stool at the bar. He staggered slightly but Cas knew he wasn’t drunk - he was sore, in pain from injuries Cas couldn’t see. Alastair grasped his arm, rolling his eyes at Cas as if Dean was a cheap drunk. Dean kept his head down as the two of them walked out of the bar. 

Cas stood there at the bar for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. He grabbed the garbage bin nearest to him, tied up the top even though it was only half full and slipped out the back door of the bar, through the kitchen. It led to the bins and the parking lot to the side of the Roadhouse. He left the garbage bag next to the bins and was just about to venture out of the shadows when he heard the sound of boots crunching through the gravel. 

“So, did you have a nice time with _ Cas _ then?” Alastair said, his patronising voice distinct in the quiet of the lot. 

Dean murmured a reply, too quiet for Cas to hear as the two of them walked alongside the Roadhouse, closer to where Cas was. He flattened himself against the wall, sinking into the inky blackness of the shadows, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. 

“God, you’re nothing but a two-bit fucking whore, you may as well have bent over and invited him to ride you ragged all night, may as well have gone down on your fucking knees and sucked him off with that pretty little mouth of yours, cause you know that’s all you’re good for.”

Cas had to bite down on his fist to keep from gasping at the absolutely vile words spewing from Alastair’s mouth. 

“Stop it,” Dean whispered in response. “All we did was talk and we barely did any of that anyway.”

“Are you talking back to me?” Alastair’s tone changed. It got deadly, ice-cold even, and once again Cas felt a shiver go down his spine. 

“N-no, I just didn’t think”-

Suddenly Cas jumped when he heard the sound of a body being slammed up against the rough side of the bar accompanied by a pained gasp. 

“That’s the problem with you though, or at least _ one _of them,” Alastair snarled, “you don’t think.”

Cas had heard enough. He steeled himself and strode out of the shadows to see Alastair and Dean on the other side of the bins, lit by the one downlight. Alastair had Dean pushed him against the side of the building, one hand on his throat, the other fisted in his short hair, pulling his head to the side awkwardly, baring his neck - which Cas could see showed more of the same bruised skin. Dean’s eyes were screwed shut, his mouth a thin line of pain.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” he said loudly. 

“Oh, nothing,” Alastair said, “just helping my boy here sober up.”

He pulled his hand away from Dean’s hair and Dean exhaled, his eyes flicking up to Cas for a moment. Alastair kept his hand on Dean’s throat and pulled him away from the wall, moving his grip so he held onto the back of Dean’s neck instead. 

“Dean, is everything alright?” Cas asked, repeating the same question he’d asked earlier back inside the Roadhouse. 

Dean nodded wordlessly and the two of them started to move away from the bar, towards a gleaming black late-model Impala. Cas reached out a hand and gently grasped Dean’s forearm, alarmed by how much the man was trembling.

“Dean, are you sure you’re alright?”

“He’s fine,” Alastair snapped. 

“I’m fine,” Dean echoed, his voice hollow.

Cas didn’t let go and Dean finally looked up and met his eyes without dropping his gaze. 

“Please Cas, you’ll just make it worse,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

A stunned Cas could only drop his hand and watch while Alastair opened the passenger side door of the Impala and unceremoniously dumped on the seat before marching around to the driver’s side then starting the old car impatiently and rolling out of the lot. Cas knew right then and there that he needed to do something. He needed to try and save Dean from that man. Before Alastair hurt him again. Or worse. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets a bit more information about Dean’s backstory.

**Chapter Two**

That night, Cas lay in bed for what felt like hours, wide awake. The last few weeks he’d gotten into a routine. Sleep until around eight to make up for the late nights closing up the Roadhouse, do any chores between nine and ten, then get to the Roadhouse to get ready for the lunch rush at eleven. He liked the routine, it made him feel settled in the new town quickly. 

But after what he’d witnessed last night, he couldn’t get a wink of sleep and when his alarm went off at eight, he groaned in exhaustion. He couldn’t get Dean’s face out of his mind. Especially the broken way he’d pleaded with Cas to just leave the situation be. He needed to know more about Dean, he decided. 

After a quick shower, Cas jogged down to the general store to pick up some extra supplies - the Roadhouse got deliveries weekly but the last couple of days he’d been completely cleaned out of french fries - they were a side on the burger special and were clearly pretty popular. He picked up two bags of frozen fries - they’d do until the next delivery tomorrow and, while walking up to the counter, he passed the aisle stocked full of medical and first aid products. He stopped for a moment, remembering the cuts and bruises on Dean’s face and, without stopping to think he walked down the aisle, pulling different bandages, antiseptic cream, and painkillers into the shopping basket. 

When he got back to the Roadhouse, Cas stuffed the medical supplies into the understocked First Aid kit behind the bar before carrying the frozen french fries around into the kitchen where Ellen was prepping for lunch. 

“Thanks Hon,” Ellen said, looking up from her prep work as Cas took the bags into the walk-in freezer. “How you doin’ anyway?”

“I’m alright, how are you, everything okay back here?” Cas asked, leaning against the counter. 

“Just great, that new oven is miles and away better than the old one, that’s for sure,” Ellen replied with a laugh. 

“You miss Jo?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ellen said, after a beat but then she smiled up at Cas, “I’m just so damn proud of her though, heading off to college this week.” 

“I’m sure you must be,” Cas nodded. He looked down at his boots, already scuffed after already a month of living out here in Kansas and running the bar. 

“What’s on your mind, Cas?” Ellen asked. 

Cas sighed. Ellen always knew when something was up. “Do you know Dean? Dean Winchester?”

Now it was Ellen’s turn to sigh. She put down the knife she’d be using and looked up at Cas. “Now that is one tragedy you probably don’t wanna get involved with.”

Cas looked back at her, waiting for her to continue. 

“Dean grew up right here in Lebanon with his daddy, John Winchester and his brother, Sam. That family was just one big ol’ sad story right from the get go it seems. Their mom died when the kids were real young, pretty sure Sam was only six months old, if that. After that, it all just went to shit. John was always a bit of a loose cannon, but Mary and the boys kept him grounded,” Ellen said, puncturing her words with a dejected shrug. “That ship sailed when Mary died. He spent a little too much quality time with Jim, Jack and José if you get my drift. He got mean too. I didn’t see the Winchesters all that much but when I did I could always bet my bottom dollar that Dean looked like he’d been thrown around a bit too much.”

“Jesus,” Cas breathed, “and his brother? Sam, was it?”

“Yeah, Sam, I don’t know,” Ellen mused, “it was weird, he never really had a mark on him. I guess Dean just shouldered the brunt of it. Anyway, those boys were almost taken off their daddy half a dozen times at least, that was what I heard anyway. That was why Alastair Burns came to town from what Bobby Singer told me.” 

At Cas’s questioning look, Ellen added, “Bobby’s the mechanic, you know Singer’s Auto Salvage?” Cas nodded. “Yeah, that’s Bobby’s. He used to be friends with John but they grew apart. Can’t imagine why. Anyway Alastair was a probationary Child Protective Services officer back then. Blew into town with his partner - I can’t remember her full name… Ruby something? - they came in guns blazing to take those boys off John. And then… nothing. The Winchesters stayed a ‘happy’ family. Of course, five minutes later John died in a hunting accident.”

“What?” Cas blurted out, shocked. 

“Yeah, coincidence? I don’t think so. Dean was, oh, I guess around nineteen at the time? So Sam would’ve only been fifteen or so. Somehow, I don’t know how so don’t ask me, Dean got full complete custody of Sam - with Alastair’s help, mind you. They stayed here, living in John’s house - it’s on the outskirts of town, near Bobby’s. Funny thing was Alastair stuck around too. He’d trained to be a cop before joining CPS and now he’s a deputy down at the station, under Sheriff Crowley. That whole Sheriff’s office is bad news if you ask me.”

“He’s a  _ deputy _ ?” Cas asked, astonished. 

“Yeah, I know, preachin’ to the choir. Apparently he and the Sheriff go way back. So he stuck around, got a job at the station and he’s been dating Dean since John died. The last four years or so.”

“I met him yesterday. He came in and…”

“Yeah, I saw him too. He didn’t look too crash hot,” Ellen said quietly. “But that’s Alastair for you. The guy is just… bad news.”

“Alastair did that to Dean?” Cas asked, although he was already pretty sure of what her answer would be.

“Yeah, Hon, he did.”

“But… Ellen… why doesn’t”-

“Anyone do anything?” Ellen interrupted. “Because he’s a deputy. It’s bullshit I know but this is a small town and most people just figure they should just stay out of Alastair’s way.” 

“But what about Dean?” Cas protested feeling completely and utterly powerless. 

“What about Dean?” At Cas’s stricken face Ellen shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. There’s just… not much anyone  _ can _ do. It’s a rock and a hard place you know? Look, Dean’s got people who look after him. Well he’s got Bobby at least, he works at Bobby’s salvage yard, fixing up cars.” 

“What about Sam?”

“Sam’s off at college. He’s one smart cookie - got a full scholarship to Stanford. Was the talk of the town last year.”

“Wow, good for him,” Cas said, his heart aching after hearing the small-town-gossip version of Dean’s upbringing. 

“Yeah, good for him,” Ellen said. She went back to her food prep. “Should’ve taken his brother with him, gotten them both out of here. But I guess that ship sailed too.”

“Thanks for, you know, filling me in,” Cas said. He moved off the counter and made to go back out front to start opening up for lunch.

“Cas you’re not…” Ellen drifted off and Cas turned around to face her. “You’re not thinking of… I don’t know, steppin’ in or something?” 

“No,” Cas replied quickly, a little too quickly he realised and added, “no I… I just want this place to be a nice, uh,  _ family  _ place you know? I didn’t like the way Alastair was treating him last night. Just wanted to know the whole story, I guess.”

“Good to know,” Ellen said, nodding and went back to chopping. Although as Cas walked out he heard her mumble under her breath, “Cause steppin’ in on that sideshow would be the last thing you end up doin’.”

Cas shrugged off her comments and walked out into the front of the bar, plucking a few dirty glasses off a booth in the far corner that he’d missed while closing up last night. He found it pretty disheartening that most of the town knew that Dean was getting beaten up by Alastair and did nothing about it. Sighing as he put the glasses in the dishwasher, he pulled out a rag to wipe down the bar when he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked up towards the glass door and windows at the front of the bar. And his jaw dropped. 

“Speak of the devil,” he breathed. 

It was Dean Winchester, himself. Staggering up to the front door of the bar, one arm wrapped around his midsection, blood dripping from his face. Cas froze for a moment, felt like he’d grown roots into the ground beneath his feet. The spell broke when Dean practically collapsed against the front door, keeping himself upright only just with a hand on the doorframe. 

Can ran to the front door and flicked the lock, opening it and catching Dean when he fell forwards, no longer being supported by the door. 

“Dean? What happened?” Cas asked, breathlessly, helping him inside, the coppery smell of Dean’s blood filling his nostrils. 

“Sorry… ‘m sorry,” Dean whispered, before passing out in Cas’s arms. 

“Cas? What’s goin’- holy shit,” Ellen’s next words were halted by the sight of Dean, unconscious and bloody, in Cas’s arms. 

“He just turned up like this,” Cas said. “Help me with him.”

Ellen wordlessly rushed over and pulled Dean’s arm over her shoulder; Cas did the same on his side. 

“Lets… uh, we’ll just put him in my bungalow for the time being,” Cas said, firmly seeing the nervous look on Ellen’s face. 

“Cas,” she warned. 

“Where else are we gonna put him?” Cas countered. 

“And when Alastair comes in here lookin’ for him?”

“I’ll just tell him I haven’t seen him,” Cas said determinedly. “And you’ll say the same thing.”

“Alright, fine,” Ellen relented as they moved through the bar towards the back door that led to the parking lot and the bungalows beyond that. “But it’s gonna be your funeral.”

“As long as it’s not Dean’s,” Cas replied with a strength to his voice that even he didn’t know he possessed. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same morning, but from Dean's perspective. Warning, this gets violent.

**Chapter Three**

The morning was an entirely different affair for Dean Winchester. To be honest, it had started the night before. Dean knew spending so much time at the Roadhouse that evening was a mistake but he just needed a _ break _. He needed some time to himself. And, when he finished fixing up the radiator on that old Chevelle in record time it wasn’t like he could argue when his boss, Bobby Singer, came over to check out his work. 

“Lookin’ good, Dean,” Bobby had said in his usual gruff fashion.

“Thanks Bobby, should drive like a dream now,” Dean said, straightening up and wiping his hands on the towel he’d left folded on the bonnet of the Ford next to the Chevelle. 

“Hey, why don’t you clock off early?” Bobby suggested. 

“Ah Bobby, no I couldn’t,” Dean protested, meeting Bobby’s eyes then quickly looking away, busying himself with putting away the tools he’d been using. It wasn’t that Bobby didn’t know about, well, _ everything _, it’s just that Dean didn’t like to rub all his issues in Bobby’s face. 

“I mean it’s almost four-thirty now, anyway,” Bobby countered. “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, ya idjit.”

Dean sighed and allowed himself a small smile, wincing slightly at the pull on his cut lips. He held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll go. But… uh, I might need a lift somewhere.” His voice got softer as he added the last part, “Alastair has the Impala. The cruiser is still out of commission.” 

Dean could just about _ feel _Bobby frown at his words but he knew Bobby wouldn’t give him a hard time about it. That old Chevrolet was one of the most important things to Dean with the exception, of course, of his brother, Sam. It would have been killing him to let someone else drive it, even if it was his supposed ‘boyfriend’ - not that Bobby would ever have said that to Dean.

“How’d he even get that car so mangled in the first place?” Bobby asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Drunk driver,” Dean supplied, not going into any further details like the fact that Alastair had been distracted by losing his temper at whatever infraction Dean had made and was busily backhanding him when the other drunk driver ignored the stop sign. The crash would have been far less serious if he’d been focusing on the road instead of making sure Dean couldn’t see out of his left eye for a couple days. 

“Well, I don’t know about that mechanic the deputies use over in Greenville but they’re taking an awful long time to get that car back up and running,” Bobby groused. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean said. He picked up his leather jacket and gestured to the Chevelle. “Want to give it a red hot go and drop me off at the Roadhouse?”

“The Roadhouse, huh?” Bobby said with a smirk. 

“Yeah, maybe I’ll go blow off some steam,” Dean said with a shrug, feeling the pull on sore muscles and still-healing welts. “Could use it.”

“Sure could, kid,” Bobby said. He patted the roof of the old Chevelle. “Alright, let’s get this old girl going, huh?” 

It was all fun and games until Alastair showed up. Of course Dean had texted him, told him exactly where he was, what he was doing and roughly when he’d be coming home. But it was never enough for Alastair. And, just like clockwork, ten minutes after his shift at the station ended at ten, he was at the Roadhouse, his hand squeezing Dean’s left shoulder painfully - right where the most agonizing welt on his back ended. And Alastair knew it. 

The exchange in the parking lot made Dean feel sick. The new owner of the Roadhouse, Cas, had been so nice and patient with him all evening. Not to mention, he was insanely good-looking. Dean knew that the bartender had noticed the bruises on his face but he hadn’t asked about it which was kind of a relief. Dean didn’t really see a whole heap of people every day - Bobby, of course, at work, maybe the store if he went in to pick up groceries, every now and then Ellen at the Roadhouse. They all knew what Alastair was like, they’d seen the bruises before and on the rare occasions when Alastair had gone too far they’d said something. But on the whole, they just let it be which was exactly what Dean wished for. 

But Alastair and his outburst in the parking lot, that was something else. He usually kept his violence confined to their house a block down from the station. At worst, he might hit Dean while they were out driving. But completely out in public? At the parking lot of the Roadhouse? He’d never done that before. 

And when Alastair slammed the door of the Impala after brushing off Cas’s concern, Dean couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands. He was suddenly very scared of Alastair. To be fair, there was hardly a minute he spent in Alastair’s company these days that he wasn’t scared of the man but _ slamming him up against the wall and choking him in public where anyone could have seen them and somebody did _? That was new ground for them. 

Alastair yanked open the drivers side door of the Impala and slammed it shut with such force that Dean winced. He stayed silent, frozen in place on the front seat while Alastair failed to get the engine started on the first go, succeeded on the second and then peeled out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. 

“Alastair? I’m s”-

“You’re sorry?” Alastair cut in, “Is that what you were going to say, you worthless piece of shit?”

“I… yeah,” Dean said, looking down at his hands. 

“All of the things I’ve done for you, everything I’ve sacrificed _ for you _ and this is how you repay me? You’d rather get drunk at a bar then come home to your _ partner _?” 

“No, Al, it’s not that”-

“Then what is it?” Alastair’s voice was low and menacing and Dean swallowed roughly. “You want to spend more time with that pretty boy bartender? You’d prefer him over me, is that it?”

“No, I never- Alastair I never said or did anything like that, I promise,” Dean protested weakly. “You _ know _me, you know I’d never do that. I just”-

“Just what? Explain yourself. Now,” Alastair ordered. “Unless you actually _ want _to be belted.” 

“Please Alastair,” Dean begged in a broken whisper. Every time he moved or even _ breathed _his back ached from the last time he’d made a mistake in Alastair’s eyes. “I just wanted a break, I just wanted to sit there and do nothing, drink a beer or two. Just by myself, alone with my thoughts. Nothing else, I promise.” 

The older man was quiet. He didn’t reply, not even to acknowledge what Dean had said. 

“Alastair?”

“Shut up,” Alastair growled. “Don’t say another fucking word.” 

“Yes sir,” Dean whispered in response. 

“Not even that,” Alastair said and Dean flinched at his tone. Usually the honorific would placate Alastair but it didn’t look like that was going to work tonight. “God you can’t help yourself. Can’t even stay quiet for 5 minutes. Can’t even do _ that _right.” 

Dean knew he’d fucked up big time. He just wouldn’t know how bad until they got home - that’s when the real Alastair would emerge. They drove past the station and rolled up to their house a few blocks later, Alastair parking the Impala on the drive in front of the garage’s closed roller door. Dean got out of the car and made to walk up the overgrown path towards the front door when Alastair’s hand came down on his shoulder. 

“No,” Alastair whispered, the sound of his voice moving down his spine like ice. “The garage.”

“Yes sir,” Dean replied, his head bowing as he instead turned to the garage’s side door. 

Alastair unlocked it and Dean held it open for Alastair to walk through first. The older man flicked on the light and Dean bit his lip at the sight of their ‘garage’. It was lit by a couple of hanging naked bulbs that cast grim shadows over the walls. It wasn’t too cold, as Alastair had done some DIY insulating over the last few years, nailing up old carpet and the like, but the cement floor and lack of anything resembling what someone would usually find in a garage made Dean’s blood turn to ice. 

There wasn’t actually much in the garage but what _ was _in it contributed greatly to Dean’s nightmares. In one corner of the room was a large, reinforced metal cage, bolted into the cement floor. Leaning against the opposite wall was a table covered with a myriad of what Dean had always considered to be torture devices. He’d never say that out loud to Alastair though. On the third wall was nothing but a large iron loop screwed into the wall a few inches higher than the top of Dean’s head. That was where Alastair pointed. 

“Alastair please,” Dean pleaded. 

“Did you want to make it worse?” Alastair threatened. 

“No sir,” Dean replied, swallowing his trepidation. He walked over to the iron loop shivering slightly, but not because of the cold. 

“Shirt off,” Alastair ordered. 

“Yes sir,” came Dean’s prompt reply. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and then pulled it off, his t-shirt quickly following. He folded them neatly and placed them on the ground near the cage. Dean was glad there were no mirrors in the garage - he knew he looked like shit. Alastair had actually been pretty patient with him the last few days, just a backhand here and there when he’d said something out of line. He knew he still had fading bruises covering his back from the last time he’d fucked up though, two weeks ago. One lash had caught him particularly badly on his left shoulder, breaking the skin. It would have healed much faster if Alastair had stopped grabbing him right there. Dean turned so he was facing the wall, the iron loop just above his head and his back to Alastair.

“We’re going to try something new tonight,” Alastair said. 

Dean inhaled sharply as he heard the distinct sound of chain links rattling behind him. Alastair walked up to his boyfriend, admiring the fading bruises over his broad, leanly muscled back. He traced a finger along one of them, relishing in the bitten-back gasp that escaped Dean’s lips. 

“Alastair, please, I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, turning his head slightly. “I didn’t realise what I was doing, I didn’t realise it would make you so upset.”

“I know,” Alastair replied, brushing his lips against Dean’s bare shoulder and running his hand soothingly over his boy’s back. Dean leaned into his touch, praying that Alastair would reconsider. “Turn around.”

Dean obeyed but when he saw what Alastair had in his hand he looked up at the older man in shock. “Al… what…”

“I told you, something new,” Alastair said with a smirk that didn’t reach his cold, grey eyes. “Crowley gave it to me. He said he thought it might make a good addition to my collection. He said it’d come in handy when my _ bitch _steps out of line, needs a bit of reconditioning. Said it works great on his rottweilers.” 

Dean swallowed and tried to back away, jerking away when his bare back brushed the cool wall right behind him. “Don’t please,” he begged, shaking his head. 

“Do I need to gag you as well?” Alastair asked. Dean was silent for a moment, then finally shook his head, no. “Good boy.” 

Alastair held up the metal choke chain and slipped it over Dean’s head. The chain was bitingly cold against his skin and Dean gritted his teeth. Alastair clipped a leather leash onto the end of the choke chain, the humiliation of the whole situation making Dean’s cheeks burn. Alastair let the end of the leash drop so it was hanging straight down Dean’s front. 

“Hands,” Alastair said, pulling a loop of cord from his pocket. 

“What…? No, Alastair,” Dean said, shaking his head. 

Alastair hadn’t tied his hands before. Usually Dean would just hold onto the iron loop to keep his hands out of the way of Alastair’s ‘lessons’ - Alastair was well aware that Dean brought almost as much money into the house with his work with Bobby so he wasn’t about to break one of his fingers. 

“I told you we’re doing _ something different _ ,” Alastair growled. “Now give me your goddamn _ hands _.”

“Alastair, please”-

Dean’s next words were cut off when Alastair harshly backhanded him, snapping his neck to the side. Dean licked his lips, tasting blood, then silently held his hands up for Alastair who bound them with the cord. He spun Dean around and hauled his arms up, hooking them over the iron loop. The next step made Dean start trembling - Alastair grasped the leather leash and threaded it through the iron loop, tying it so the leather was a taut line between the loop and the tightened choke chain. 

“Please, Alastair,” Dean whispered. 

“Please, _ what _?” 

“Please, I love you, Alastair, please… please don’t hurt me.” 

“I know, and that’s why you’ll atone for what you’ve done.” 

Dean heard Alastair’s footsteps move away from him and he closed his eyes and waited for the first blow. Alastair always made him wait for the first one, whether it was the mindfuck of Dean’s fear and apprehension he got off on, Dean didn’t know. But he stood there, arms pulled up, wrists already starting to throb from the too-tight cord wrapped around them, the metal choke chain a constant reminder of his place in Alastair’s life. And then, suddenly the belt flew through the air with a whistle and struck him across the shoulder blades, igniting a line of fiery pain. 

Alastair went at it for a long time, swinging John Winchester’s belt at his boyfriend’s back, leaving red lines of agony crisscrossing tanned skin until, finally he was done. He dropped the belt to the floor, the buckle clattering on the cement and, once again, took in Dean’s frame. 

The cord around his wrists had been inspired thinking. If it wasn’t for Dean’s hands tied and hooked over the iron loop in the wall, he’d have hung himself on the chain around his throat about ten minutes ago when his knees started to buckle at the pain. His back was covered in angry red welts, a couple of them bleeding sluggishly from where John’s old belt had broken Dean’s skin. Keeping the belt had been a masterstroke - Dean had never questioned him about it, just gasped wide-eyed when Alastair produced it the first time Dean fucked up majorly. It was perfect really, Dean was used to it after all - John had been using it to keep him in line for years, it only made sense for Alastair to continue the tradition. 

A shaky inhale from Dean brought Alastair out of his thoughts and he watched as Dean tried to shift his body into a somewhat bearable position, groaning at the strain in his shoulders, the fresh ache in his back. Alastair sauntered up to the boy - sure, Dean was twenty-three, but freshly punished like this? Alastair always thought of him as that nineteen year old boy, eyes downcast and perfectly submissive to his father’s stern voice and iron fist. Alastair stroked Dean’s back, eliciting a gasp from him. 

“Al… Alastair… I’m… ‘m sorry,” Dean stammered brokenly. 

“I know.”

Alastair unclipped the leash but left the choke chain on, tugging it loose and marvelling at the ring of new, red bruises around his boy’s throat. He pulled Dean’s bound wrists off the iron loop and Dean’s knees finally, successfully buckled and he dropped to the ground in a boneless heap. Alastair grasped Dean’s shoulders and pulled him up to a sitting position, leaning him against the cold wall. Dean couldn’t help the soft cry of anguish as his abused back touched the bare bricks. Alastair untied the cords and unwound them from Dean’s wrists noting the rope burns but disregarding them at the same time. He looked down at his boyfriend, cataloguing his injuries. A couple of the strikes had wound around his body and he could see a growing bruise on the left side of Dean’s ribcage where the buckle looked to have made undeniably painful contact - there might be a cracked rib or two in there, Alastair thought grimly, thinking of how he’d need to lay off the boy for a while. 

Dean looked up at him and for a split second Alastair was struck by the agony and despair in his green eyes. But only for a moment - Dean had deserved this, after all. 

“Alastair… why?” Dean asked, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I… I didn’t know… I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t know it would… make you so upset.”

“You know now.”

Alastair stood up and kicked Dean’s discarded shirt towards him. “Put that on. You’re sleeping here tonight. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Alastair, please,” Dean begged, already feeling the cold seeping into his bones - everywhere except his back which was on fire. 

“You heard me,” Alastair walked over to the garage’s side door and opened it. “I’ll unlock it in the morning when I leave. But you’ll stay here tonight to think about what you’ve done.”

“Alastair, please… don’t leave me,” Dean pleaded but Alastair was already flicking the light switch off and leaving. Dean heard the bolt sliding home on the outside of the side door, a finality to the sound that brought fresh tears to his eyes. 

He reached out and grabbed his flannel shirt, moaning at the pull on his mistreated body. Putting on the shirt made him start sobbing with pain and _ that _ made him aware of an ache in his ribs. He didn’t even want to think about whether or not they were broken or just cracked. Instead he bunched up his t-shirt for a makeshift pillow and laid down on the frigid cement floor, curling his legs up to try and stave off the cold. 

* * *

Waking up the next morning, Dean was in almost more pain than he could ever remember experiencing. But no, that particular medal went to the night his father died. Dean pushed that memory aside and took a deep breath before moving, gasping at the twinge in his ribs as he inhaled. He took a moment to try and get to grips with what hurt and how much before he moved. Even then, it seemed like a superhuman effort to even sit up. 

Sunlight was streaming through the gap under the side door. It was well and truly midmorning. Alastair would have left for work already. Dean gritted his teeth and got to his feet, biting back a cry of agony as the movement sent shockwaves through his damaged body. This was too much, he suddenly realised with a pang of fear. He needed help, actual proper help - he was in too much pain. And he had practically nowhere to go. 

Alastair never helped him after a session like last night - recovering from the beating was part of the punishment. Plus, Dean knew Alastair was heading off with Crowley later on this afternoon after work for what he called a ‘well deserved fortnight away from the good-for-nothing ball and chain’. So at least there was a silver lining in not seeing Alastair for two weeks. Bobby had told him he was leaving on a hunting trip at dawn for the weekend. Sam was hundreds of miles away at college. Dean couldn’t help the sob that escaped him. He was so fucking _ alone _ . Maybe if he didn’t fuck up so much, he wouldn’t be so fucked up, he thought. That line of thinking brought him back to why Alastair had been so angry with him in the first place - the Roadhouse. _ Cas _. 

He could go to the Roadhouse. Even if Cas wasn’t there, Ellen was and she could patch him, she’d done it before. Alastair would never even know. 

Dean staggered out of the garage, the side door having been unbolted when Alastair left for work and the knots in his stomach loosened slightly when he saw the polished black Impala sitting there, waiting for him. Keeping one hand on the side of the garage to stay upright, he limped down to the car, opened the drivers side door with a creak and gingerly got in, hissing as his back made contact with the seat. He flipped open the sun visor and the keys fell into his lap. Within seconds, the big V8 engine turned over with a rumble and he was rolling down the street, heading for the Roadhouse. 

Once Dean got closer to the Roadhouse, he could feel what little energy he had left draining steadily away. He forced his eyes to stay open, blinking away the blurriness and black spots until the bar thankfully came into view. He pulled into the parking lot, gasping as the Impala bounced over the curb and then parked it, right at the rear of the lot, out of sight of the road. He practically fell out of the car, grazing his head on the car door and reopening a cut on his brow bone that started trickling blood down his face. But Dean hauled himself up, his determination now the only thing forcing him forwards. He wrapped an arm around his midsection, trying to alleviate the agony he felt in his side, brushing the blood away from his eyes as he stumbled towards the front door of the Roadhouse. 

He grasped the handle, letting out a soft wail of despair when it didn’t budge and fell against the doorframe. The door suddenly opened and he collapsed forward, expecting the hard thud of the floor against his battered body but instead being caught in strong yet gentle arms. 

“Dean? What happened?”

He looked up as his savior helped him inside. _ Cas _. 

“Sorry... “ he murmured, his voice hoarse and rough like sandpaper, “‘m sorry.” 

And then, his world went black.  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of comfort for that hurt...

**Chapter Four**

“I’ve got him, can you get the door? It’s unlocked.” 

Cas held on gently to Dean upper body, the unconscious man’s limp arm over his shoulder, as Ellen opened the door to his bungalow. Once Cas and Dean were through the door, Ellen came back to help on Dean’s other side. 

“Bedroom,” Cas directed. Ellen raised an eyebrow. “Where else?” 

The two of them moved down the wide hallway, Cas instantly thankful for the spacious dimensions of the bungalow, and stopped at the bedroom. They carefully laid Dean down on the bed on his back. The movement roused him somewhat and he groaned in pain, his green eyes shooting open and then squeezing shut in agony.

“No… please..” Dean whispered, biting his bottom lip. 

“Oh god,” Ellen breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.

“What? What is it?” Cas questioned. 

“Fucking Alastair,” Ellen said, “it’s his back I think.” 

“What do you mean?”

Instead of replying, Ellen leaned over Dean and grasped his hand, squeezing to try and bring him back around. “Dean? Dean, can you hear me?” 

Dean groaned again and his eyelids fluttered before opening a crack. “El-Ellen? S’at you?” 

“Yeah it’s me, honey,” Ellen replied soothingly. “Tell me, where are you hurtin’?” 

“E-everywhere," Dean stammered, a tear rolling down his cheek as he looked away from Ellen. 

Cas felt his heart break and tears prick behind his eyes at Dean’s reply but he forced himself to stay strong for the man. 

“Is it your back?” Ellen asked, her own voice trembling slightly. “Did Alastair… did he…?” 

“Yeah… he did,” Dean confirmed haltingly, his voice a broken whisper - a shadow of the deep tone Cas had heard when he’d met Dean. 

“Cas go get something to wash the blood off of his face,” Ellen said.

Cas left the room and Dean blinked, trying to focus his vision. “Cas is here?” he asked, frowning. 

“You came to the Roadhouse, honey,” Ellen said, “you might not remember. You’re safe here, alright?”

Dean nodded then winced at the pain flaying his nerves from too many places just as Cas returned to the bedroom with a large plastic bowl of luke-warm water and a handful of rags and hand towels. He’d taken one look at Dean and figured one cloth wouldn’t cut it. While Ellen kept holding Dean’s shaking hand, Cas dampened a cloth rag and moved to the other side of the bed. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas said gently, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears as he looked down at the injured man in his bed. Bloodshot green eyes flicked over to meet his and then looked away. 

“Cas, I’m… I’m sorry,” Dean said softly. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Cas replied. He moved to wipe the blood off of Dean’s face but froze when his movement made Dean flinch violently away with a sharp inhale when the flinch made his back and ribs fire up again. “Oh god,  _ I’m _ sorry Dean,” he whispered, feeling like an absolute failure. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have moved like that. I just want to help clean you up.”

Cas watched as Dean looked up at him again for a split second before nodding and swallowing hard. Cas slowly sat down on the edge of the bed and his hand found Dean’s. He grasped it gently feeling the tremors in the other man’s hand. 

“Just squeeze my hand alright? If it’s too much for you to bear,” Cas suggested. At Dean’s nod he lifted the damp cloth again. Cas locked eyes with Dean and the other man nodded his consent again. Cas gingerly started to wipe the blood from Dean’s face taking note of the cut above his left eyebrow and the still-fading bruises he’d noticed the night before. As Cas wiped the last skerrick of dried blood from Dean’s jaw he noticed new bruises just under the collar of Dean’s flannel shirt but didn’t say anything for the moment. “Alright that’s done,” he said and watched as Dean visibly relaxed, exhaling. 

"You're doing so well, honey," Ellen praised. 

“Now… your back?” 

Cas’s words caused an immediate change in Dean. He tensed up and those pained green eyes flicked between Ellen and Cas frantically. He shook his head.  “N-no… it’s fine, I-I’m fine,” he stammered. 

“Dean, sweetheart, you’re not,” Ellen countered but her voice was soothing, steady. “Let us have a look, we’ll just clean you up and then you can sleep to your heart’s content, alright?” 

Cas watched the exchange between the two of them noticing how familiar it was and it suddenly dawned on him - Ellen had helped Dean like this before. 

“Cas, help me sit him up,” Ellen said, breaking Cas out of his thoughts. He nodded and the two of them gently eased Dean up, not without eliciting a barely stifled cry of pain though. 

Dean felt more conscious than he’d honestly like to be at the moment, all of the movement pulling on welts, bruises, cuts and sore muscles. He leaned forwards against Cas’s warm chest, unable to sit up under his own strength. His forehead rested on Cas’s shoulder and he breathed in the man’s scent, woodsy and exotic, but familiar like the Roadhouse all the same. He felt Ellen unbuttoning the flannel shirt and he reached up and grabbed her hand. 

“Ellen, don’t,” he begged, his voice so soft he wasn’t even sure he’d spoken out loud. 

“Dean, honey, you’re bleeding,” Ellen said matter-of-factly but with a tinge of sadness, “You’ve… you’ve bled right through your shirt. You came here for our help, let us help you, alright?”

Dean silently let go of her hand and she continued to unbutton the shirt. Dean’s breath caught in his throat as Ellen got to the collar of the shirt and undid the final button. The chain around his throat was still there - he could feel it weighing him down and he could feel Cas and Ellen’s eyes on it. He swallowed nervously and winced at the tight ring of bruises on his neck. Cas wordlessly pulled the choke chain over Dean’s head and dropped it onto the bed next to them. 

“Thank you,” Dean whispered, hating every part of himself. Wishing he was anywhere but here - even on the cold cement floor of the garage.

Ellen carefully peeled off Dean’s shirt and he closed his eyes at the thought of them seeing what Alastair had inflicted.

“Oh my god,” Cas breathed when Ellen slowly uncovered Dean’s back. 

“Is it… is it bad?” Dean asked hesitantly. 

“Oh Dean,” Ellen said mournfully. “It’s bad, honey. Cas, grab a cloth and start cleaning, I'll keep Dean sittin' up."

Ellen took over from Cas supporting Dean as he sat at the edge of the bed and Cas dampened a cloth before sitting down on the side of the bed next to Dean. Cas forced himself not to gasp when he saw Dean's back and he looked up and locked eyes with Ellen. Tears were flowing freely down her face as she stroked Dean's hair gently, trying to keep him calm. Cas moved his gaze back to the work at hand and swallowed, steeling himself for what he'd have to do. Dean’s back was a warzone of belt marks. The angry, painful-looking red lines criss-crossed his back with no rhyme or reason. Some had already started darkening into bruises while others were edged with dried blood - the belt having split Dean’s skin when it landed. His right shoulder had been particularly laid into - making Cas think Alastair was right-handed. Along with the welts were dark bruises that looked like they went all the way down to the bone. Dean’s left side, along his ribs, had the worst of the bruising. Cas gently touched the marred skin making Dean flinch and then relax at his soothing fingers. 

“Dean… what… what are these bruises from? Right here?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking. 

“The buckle,” Dean replied, no trace of emotion in his voice. 

“The buckle of what?”

“Of my…” Dean stopped, took a breath to compose himself then continued, “The buckle of my dad’s belt.”

Both Cas and Ellen took in a breath, Cas studying the map of abuse across the man’s back in a new light.

“You gonna… gonna just keep starin’ at it?” Dean asked quietly. 

“No,” Cas replied quickly, “no. I’m sorry. I’ll- I’ll clean it up for you.’

“Thank you,” Dean murmured quietly, not daring to even try to look Cas or Ellen in the eye from his seat on the bed. On  _ Cas’s  _ bed, he reminded himself, groaning inwardly at the beating he’d receive at Alastair’s hands if he ever found out about any of this. 

It was quiet for a while as Cas gently cleaned the blood from Dean's back, exposing the full extent of Alastair's mistreatment. Once his back was clean, Cas could properly see the damage and he started to think Alastair was something less than human. Who could possibly think that it was alright to treat someone so horrifically? He knew Ellen had warned him against getting involved in Dean’s situation and it had seemed hard but somewhat bearable when all he knew about was the bruises on Dean’s face. Seeing this… this _torture _was something else. By the time he was done Dean was shaking, holding onto Ellen's hands for dear life, his cheeks wet from unbidden tears. 

“Dean? Are you alright?" Cas asked, placing a hand on a miraculously-unmarred part of Dean's shoulder. Dean drew in a breath and let it go slowly. 

"Y-yeah," he replied finally. 

"I'm just going to get some bandages and wrap your back, okay?"

"Sure," was Dean's whispered reply. 

Cas stood up from the bed very carefully trying not to move the mattress too much and raced into the bathroom to grab every bandage he owned, along with antiseptic cream. He returned to the bedroom and sat down again. 

"I'll put on some antiseptic ointment and then wrap it all up for you alright?" Cas said. At Dean's silent nod he added, "This... this will probably hurt. I promise you I don't mean to hurt you on purpose, Dean."

"T-thank you."

Dean gasped as Cas started applying the cream and Cas forced himself to continue despite Dean starting to sob at the pain, his breath hitching on every inhale. When it was finally done, both Cas and Ellen let out the breath they hadn't realised they'd been holding and Cas picked up the largest roll of bandages. Cas worked as quickly as he could, wrapping the bandages around Dean's torso and shoulders, covering every welt so that hopefully Dean might be able to sleep for a while in less agony. When he finished, Cas looked up at Ellen in relief. 

"Okay, all done," Cas said. 

"You did so well, honey," Ellen said, continuing to run her fingers soothingly through Dean's short dark blonde hair. 

The two of them managed to get Dean lying back down on the bed, on his stomach. The tears on Dean's face instantly dampened the pillow. 

"Cas, have you got this under control?" Ellen asked, wiping her eyes. "I should get back."

“Yeah, all good,” Cas nodded, looking down at the bandaged skin on Dean’s back. “You go back to the Roadhouse. I’ll get Dean comfortable and then come on back to help out. Is that alright with you? Dean?”

Dean hadn’t even realised that Cas had been talking to him until he heard his name - it was so rare that someone asked his permission for something. Well, for  _ anything _ . “Yeah… yeah that’s… this is more than I deserve anyway.”

Cas nodded his consent at Ellen who took one last forlorn look at the injured young man in Cas’s bed then left to get the Roadhouse’s kitchen pumping for the lunch rush. Dean’s words, meanwhile, were bouncing around Cas’s brain like a bullet ricocheting. 

“What do you mean, it’s more than you deserve?” Cas couldn’t help himself asking.

“I just… this was my fault,” Dean said, and Cas could hear his words slurring slightly - he was heading towards unconsciousness again. “I…  _ deserved  _ this. I didn’t… I didn’t deserve you.”

“I promise you Dean, you might’ve deserved a lot of things,” Cas said. “But I know you didn’t deserve this.  _ No one _ deserves this.”

“Whatever you say,” Dean mumbled, feeling sleepy as Cas picked up a blanket and laid it over him. 

“Just relax here, you're safe here and you can sleep until whenever you want alright?"

“Yes sir,” Dean murmured, his eyelids drooping and then, finally closing, as exhaustion took hold. 

Cas frowned at Dean’s words. “Dean?” Cas said. He stood up and leaned over to see that Dean’s eyes were closed. Cas gently placed two fingers on his neck, feeling for a pulse and trying desperately not to press down on the bruises caused by that chain collar. Dean’s pulse was there, he was just out cold. “Oh Dean, I’m so sorry,” Cas whispered. 

Cas bundled up Dean’s bloody shirt and threw it in the washing machine before returning to the bedroom. He needed to get back to the Roadhouse - Ellen was pretty damn capable but she’d be flat out at this point. He filled a glass with water and left it on the nightstand for Dean, along with one of his softer sweaters, and the landline phone receiver, before writing him a note. 

_ Dean, I hope you’re feeling better when you wake up. I’ve put your shirt in the wash. If you’re cold, put on my sweater and if you need anything at all just call me at the Roadhouse and I'll come right back here and help.  _

Cas wrote down the number for the Roadhouse and then straightened. He squinted in the glare coming through the bedroom window and he quickly pulled the curtains closed - the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see Dean here, in his  _ bed _ . Then he headed for the door. Just as Cas was about to leave Dean to the relative calm of the darkened bedroom, he turned around and looked back. Despite the bandages covering his back and the bruises on his face, Dean almost looked peaceful in his sleep. Cas wanted to stay with him more than anything but he knew he couldn’t. He just hoped the next hour or so would go by quickly. 

"I'm so sorry this happened to you Dean," Cas whispered, knowing the unconscious man wouldn't hear him and not caring in the least. "I... I hope I can find some way to get you away from that monster. I can save you... I know I can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any requests? Let me know...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up. He finds out some of Cas's history and opens up to him a little.

**Chapter Five**

When Dean woke up it felt strange. He felt the ache in his muscles - the almost-constant hangover from a session with Alastair - but it didn’t feel as bad as it should. Had he been unconscious for a day or two, he wondered, was that why he was feeling a little better than he had when he first woke up the morning after Alastair had laid into him? As his senses returned to him he realised with a start that he didn’t know where he was. 

He was smelling something that seemed both new and familiar at the same time and the fabric under his fingers felt softer than anything he’d felt in the last little while. He cracked one eye and then the other and took in his surroundings. He was in a bedroom. That much was pretty obvious but he kind of had no idea whose bedroom it was. 

“What the fuck?” he breathed, groaning as he pushed himself up, swinging his legs around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. 

That’s when the pain in his back and ribs lit up and he hurriedly shoved his fist into his mouth to try and stop the absolute scream of agony that burst from him. He felt like he was going to be sick and leaned over his knees, trying to quell the waves of nausea that threatened to overtake him. He heard the sound of footsteps off in the distance and was praying that he hadn’t just regained consciousness in the bedroom of one of Alastair’s equally-depraved friends. 

The footsteps grew louder and closer and Dean forced his eyes open, blinking back tears as he heard the front door unlock and creak open and then the sound of someone jogging down the hallway towards the bedroom. He wrapped an arm around his ribs and tried to make himself stand up - he needed to get up, once he was down on the floor it’d be all over, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He placed his free hand on the nightstand to steady himself, knocking over a glass of water and sending it flying to the floor where it shattered. He tried to get to his feet and somehow knew he’d be the one falling to the ground when he was caught in the arms of someone else. He instantly tried to struggle away but those arms held him firmly in their grasp. 

“Dean!”

Dean froze at the sound of the man’s voice and finally blinked away the tears from his eyes to see the worried face of Cas Novak. 

“Dean, please calm down, everything’s alright,” Cas soothed, sitting Dean back down on the bed. 

“I’m… uh, where… where are we??” Dean stammered, frowning up at Cas before dropping his gaze to his hands. 

“You don’t remember?” Cas asked then shook his head, “Of course you don’t remember, you were practically unconscious when you got here. You turned up at the Roadhouse just before lunchtime and kind of… uh, collapsed in my arms to be honest. Ellen and I brought you back here - it’s my place, it’s just behind the Roadhouse next to Ellen’s - and well, we cleaned you up and just let you sleep here. I… I wrote you a note but I guess you probably missed it.”

Cas gestured to the handwritten note on the nightstand that was now soggy from the spilled water glass. 

“Oh fuck… I’m sorry Cas,” Dean said, his head falling into his hands. “I’m so sorry, I… I shouldn’t have come here and dumped this on you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for Dean, seriously,” Cas replied. He placed a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder, his heart practically beating out of his chest when the other man didn’t flinch at his touch. “I’m just glad we were here to help you. How are you feeling now? How’s your back?"

“It’s… I’m okay, look I should probably go,” Dean said quietly. He attempted to stand up and fell back down to the bed with a pained wince. 

“As much as I’d like to stay here,” Cas said with a sigh, “I can help you back out to your car if you think you can make it? Or I could drop you home?”

Dean nodded and tried to stand up again but the movement pulled so agonisingly on his injured back and ribs he gave up pretty much instantly. 

“I… I don’t think I can,” Dean said miserably, his voice hoarse with aches hitting him from every direction. 

“Dean, will Alastair be expecting you at home?” Cas asked. 

Dean’s eyes shot up to meet Cas’s for a split second before looking away. “Uh… uh, no, he’s gone away, he’s away for two weeks,” he said, his face brightening as he realised the ideal position he’d found himself in - Alastair wasn’t around and he had someone who might actually take care of him for a little while. 

“Why don’t you just stay here then? Just for a little bit, until you feel better,” Cas suggested. “My couch folds out into a bed so you can take this if you want.” Cas gestured to the bed they were sitting on and Dean almost sighed at the thought of staying.

“I… are you sure that would be alright?” 

“I’m sure, really I am,” Cas smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he could feel the relief coming off the man in waves. “It’s no trouble.”

“T-thank you Cas,” Dean said. He looked up into those piercing blue eyes and this time he finally didn’t feel apprehensive about simply looking at the man in the eyes like he did with practically everybody. “Really. Thank you. I… I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I’d still be in that fucking gara”-

Dean cut himself off before he could say anything else. But Cas was stone cold sober and even if he’d just spent the last five hours helping Ellen serve lunch in the rowdy bar, Dean’s whispered words didn’t slip past him easily. 

“Tell me,” Cas implored. “Tell me what happened. After you left last night.”

“No, Cas, you… you don’t want to hear about that I’m sure,” Dean said, shaking his head slightly. 

“I want to know what that… what Alastair did to you.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it?” Dean said, growing frustrated. He looked up at Cas and there were tears brimming in his eyes. He wiped at them angrily, groaning at the stretch and pull on damaged skin and muscles. 

“Well I can’t do anything if I don’t even know what’s going on,” Cas replied gently. “Try me, I… I kind of have some experience in this field.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, frowning in disbelief. 

“My Dad wasn’t the uh… well, he wasn’t going to win any Father of the Year awards, let me put it that way,” Cas shrugged. 

“He hurt you,” Dean said - it wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah. At first I didn’t tell anyone,” Cas replied. “My mom wasn’t in the picture, it was just me and my older brother. He always wanted to look out for me but he wasn’t always there. It wasn’t his fault what happened but I knew he’d blame himself if he knew what was going on. My dad would get angry; would beat me. I’d have to hide it from him. It got so bad I ended up lying to my brother, telling him I’d started playing hockey for god’s sake and that was why I was limping or covered in bruises. Thank god he went to the cadet academy instead of the local high school so he was none the wiser.”

“What happened?” 

“I kept it a secret pretty much until he was just about to ship out. Where were grabbing a couple beers, just having a nice time you know? Before he left. And he poked me in the ribs. It was the punchline of a stupid joke or something but he… well, it was right where dad had kicked me the day before. I think my ribs might’ve been cracked. Anyway, he found out. He flat out refused to get on the plane the next day. We had the biggest fight - if he didn’t get on that plane he’d be discharged, dishonourably. I called him every shitty thing under the sun until he finally said that dad and I deserved each other and he left. Got on the plane, went off to war.”

Cas stopped for a moment, remembering that night. He swallowed hard trying to push down the tears that were threatening his eyes now. 

“He didn’t come back, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Cas replied. “I realised then that it was stupid not to have said anything. It’s… look, it’s always up to you whether or not you want to tell people about what’s going on. And I’d never force you. It’s… it’s just that sometimes when you keep it all bottled inside, when you don’t tell the people in your life who  _ could  _ do something, who  _ could  _ help, then sometimes it winds up even worse than it already is.”

“Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry about your brother,” Dean said, wringing his hands in his lap, rubbing the aching rope burns around his wrists. Thinking of Sammy all the way over in California. 

“Yeah, me too.”

“And your dad, is he still…?”

“No, he’s dead too, so it’s just little old me now,” Cas shrugged. “That’s why I just got my inheritance and got behind the wheel and started driving. Ended up here.”

“I’m… I’m glad that you did,” Dean said softly. 

“Me too.”

“The garage,” Dean said after a beat. At Cas’s puzzled look he continued, “If it weren’t for you I’d still be in the garage. That’s where Alastair… if I’ve fucked up or… or he’s mad or something, that’s where he, uh… that’s where he punishes me.”

“What did he do to you this time? I mean, I saw your back but… is that a regular thing?” Cas asked, almost dreading the answer. 

“Would every three weeks or so make it regular? I don’t know.” Dean let out a humourless laugh. “He was real angry last night. He put that fucking chain around my neck and… and fucking  _ leashed  _ me to the wall with it like I was some kind of… some kind of dog. He said it was Crowley’s, that Crowley used it on  _ his  _ dogs. And then he belted me. I don’t know how he got it or when but he uses my dad’s old belt when I’ve really fucked up. He just laid into me. I… I didn’t think he’d stop last night, I almost passed out from it. God he was just… terrifying.”

“I’m so sorry Dean,” Cas said. He reached over and grasped Dean’s hand, stroking his palm with his thumb. Dean looked down at their hands in amazement but didn’t pull his away. “Why was he so angry?”

“Because I… ah fuck, I don’t know how to say it…”

“It’s okay, tell me if you want and I won’t be angry if you don’t want to,” Cas said. 

“God, you’re too fucking nice,” Dean said sadly, his breath hitching slightly. “It’s… he was angry because of you. Because I was talking to you. Because you… you tried to make sure I was alright.”

“This… this is my fault?” Cas asked, horrified. “Oh fuck, Dean I had no idea, oh God, I’m so sorry I”-

“No, no, it’s… no it’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean shook his head. He squeezed Cas’s hand and looked up at him. “It’s my fault, I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have stayed at the Roadhouse for so long. I fucked up, I got what I deserved.”

“Dean, the last thing you deserve is what that man did to you last night, do you hear me?” Cas said firmly but his tone was gentle. 

“No, no, I fucked up, this was my fault, I should never have”-

Dean’s rambling was cut off when Cas leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean’s green eyes shot open and for a fraction of a second he was about to pull back but it was like he changed his mind. Despite his agonising injuries he deepened their kiss, opening his mouth and letting Cas explore it with his tongue. He reached up - cuts and bruises be damned - running his fingers through Cas’s unruly dark hair as the other man brought a soft arm around him, being careful not to press on any sore spots. They finally broke apart, both of them panting for breath somewhat. 

“What… what was that for?’ Dean asked. 

“I just wanted to show you something that you  _ did  _ deserve,” Cas said simply. His senses returned to him a second later and he looked away, his cheeks heating, “God, I’m so sorry. That was way out of line and he might be an absolute asshole from the pit of Hell but you’ve got a boyfriend and “-

“No one’s ever kissed me like that,” Dean murmured, slightly awestruck. 

“Really?” Cas asked, incredulously. “I find that hard to believe. With those lips I’d have thought they’d be lining up around the block.”

“Huh, you’d be wrong.”

“Really, I’m sorry, that was out of line,” Cas said sincerely. 

“Don’t be… I… I kind of liked it,” Dean replied softly. The two of them sat in silence until they were interrupted by Dean’s stomach rumbling loudly. “Oh wow, I’m starving,” Dean observed, rubbing his lean belly. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Cas asked. 

“Uh… I think lunch yesterday? Cause I didn’t have dinner at the Roadhouse last night, and then no breakfast of course, and I guess I slept through lunch so…” Dean trailed off when he saw Cas’s shocked face. 

“Okay, sit tight here and I’ll bring you one of Ellen’s famous burgers. Sound good?”

“Oh God, that sounds good.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back then,” Cas said, standing up. He was just at the door to the bedroom when Dean called him back. 

“Cas?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you… for everything.”

“I’d do anything for you Dean,” Cas said with a smile. “I’ll be back with a burger for you in about 10 okay?”

“Sure.”

Dean sat back on the bed. His back was still excruciatingly painful but the soft pillows and bandages made it bearable.  _ I’d do anything for you _ . He couldn’t help but feel he’d heard those words before.  _ I’d do anything for you and you can’t even keep your fucking mouth shut? Gotta talk to anything on two legs that moves, don’t you? So fucking desperate for any little bit of attention, I’ll give you some attention then _ -

Dean stopped that train of thought right in its tracks. No, Cas was different, he wasn’t like Alastair. At least Dean hoped so.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are still liking it! Sorry I totally neglected it for a little while there, I was working on another fic here which is kiiiiind of similar but Dean's a prostitute and there's BDSM going on. Anyway, thought I'd give this one a bit of love!
> 
> If you have any requests, let me know and if they fit with where I'm going I'll add them in.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I know it's been done to death but I do just love some abused Dean...


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